


My Gracious Silence

by Thea_Bromine



Series: Strategic Pluralism [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_Bromine/pseuds/Thea_Bromine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little BDSM interlude for Giles and Xander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Gracious Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Are you kidding? This is porn. No plot. No character development. No subtext. No educational value. This was written for [ Summer of Giles 2011](http://summer-of-giles.livejournal.com/).
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/125573331@N03/14716114715)

He sighed. “No, I don’t want to come with you. Yes, I do appreciate that you asked me. But given a straight choice between the Bronze, a band I’ve never heard of and hope never to hear, no possibility of a proper drink because I’m driving and no possibility of a cup of tea because the tea at the Bronze is slightly worse than undrinkable, and peace and quiet here with a book, possibly with some music I _do_ like, and my own comfortable chair... I’ll stay here. I’ll even forego the proper drink entirely, and come and pick you up if you like? One-ish? Don’t come out and wait, I’ll come inside and find you.” He cocked an eyebrow at Xander. “Let’s be honest: nobody except you would even pretend to think it a good idea for me to come. Go on, they’ll be waiting for you. I’ll see you later.”

Xander still looked doubtful but Giles gave him a gentle push towards the door. “I promise, I am not feeling huffy because you are going out and I am not. We’ll both have a much better evening if I don’t come with you. Go. Shoo. Enjoy yourself.” He collected a kiss, and Xander came back for a second one, before grabbing his jacket, grinning at Giles and heading off without further argument. Giles gave himself a moment to enjoy the silence, before wandering through to fill the kettle and rinse the teapot. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Xander. He didn’t intend to spend the whole evening with a book, just most of it. But before he could settle down to read, he needed to make a plan. The discovery which he made on the shelf above the bathroom sink made the planning easier: a hook upon which to hang his intentions.

He was lucky, finding a parking space on the first pass, close to the doors; he slipped inside the Bronze and made at once for the stairs. On the mezzanine, he pushed his way through to the railing and looked down. It only took him a moment to find the group: Buffy and whatever glossy boy she had in tow this week; Willow and Oz, heads together; Xander, obviously talking, hands moving as he told some tale to make the others laugh.

He kept his eye on them and waited. It wouldn’t be long before somebody in that group felt his gaze: he placed a small bet with himself, left against right, whether it would be Buffy’s Slayer sense or Oz’s animal sensitivity which would find him first.

It was Oz. Giles wasn’t sure if Oz felt himself watched or could actually pick up some scent on the air, but the multicoloured head swung from side to side, and then up, until their eyes met. Oz sketched a wave and Giles flickered one eyebrow; he saw Oz take in his jeans, his boots, the white tee shirt, his leather jacket, and the slow grin cross his face before he turned and spoke to Xander.

Xander in turn looked up, and his expression shifted as he realised that the man on the mezzanine was Ripper, not Rupert; Giles leaned over the railing and opened his hand, allowing the silver chain to drop and swing on his fingers. Underneath him, Xander clapped a hand to his throat and his eyes went wide. Giles nodded once towards the door and Xander slipped instantly off his stool, leaning over to kiss first Willow and then Buffy lightly on the cheek, nodding at Oz and the blond boy, heading for the exit. Obeying. Oz said something – Giles thought he could read the word ‘promise’ – and the girls looked up, Buffy laughing, Willow half shocked, to wave at him.

He lifted his hand to them, and turned away to the stairs; Xander was waiting for him at the bottom, mouth opening. Giles forestalled him.

“Silence,” he said, softly enough that only Xander would pick it up. And then, still softly, but with greater emphasis, “Heel.”

That was new but Xander got it at once, falling in slightly behind Giles, slightly to his left. Silently. Giles, as always, stopped in the doorway to look around. Sunnydale wasn’t a town in which an intelligent man stepped outside after dark without a scan to ensure the absence of anything which might mean him harm. All was quiet, though, and Giles stepped forward, car keys in his hand. He opened the passenger door first.

“In. Seatbelt on. Silence. Eyes down.”

The instant obedience ran through him like a drug. Xander folded his hands tidily in his lap – he was hard already unless Giles were very much mistaken – and kept his gaze on his fingers. Giles slipped into the car beside him.

“You went out without your chain,” he said conversationally, looking at Xander, who kept his head lowered. “Do I permit you to do that?”

Xander knew better than to answer, when he’d been instructed to be silent, but the headshake was apologetic.

“No. Because you belong to me, do you not?”

Nod.

“And your chain is evidence of that fact.”

Nod.

“Until such time as you wish to be released. Do you wish to be released?” Giles was damn sure he didn’t.

Headshake.

“Do you want your chain back?”

Nod, and a single upward glance; Giles frowned and the eyes were cast down again hurriedly.

“You’ll have to earn it. That was disobedience, just now, wasn’t it?”

Nod.

“And going out improperly dressed. What shall we call that? Disobedience again?”

The headshake was slower, more deliberate.

“Carelessness, then?”

Nod.

“And both carelessness and disobedience are punishable, aren’t they?” He knew the value of his voice, knew that he could get Xander all hot and bothered using either Professor Giles’ clipped Oxford ‘it is unthinkable that you would do anything other than obey me’ tones, or Ripper’s ‘if you know what’s good for you’ growl; this had elements of both and he saw the shudder run right through Xander. Some day, he thought, he would have to see if he could make Xander come just by the power of his voice, no touching at all.

“ _Aren’t_ they?” There was a decided warning there; Xander was required to respond instantly, even when he was forbidden to speak.

Nod.

“Shall I punish you?” Xander could always refuse. He never did.

Nod. Quiver.  

Giles started the engine. Xander could think about that all the way home.

At the flat, Xander waited to be ordered out of the car, but he looked left and right, his head up, and Giles didn’t call him on it. All rules were in abeyance on the street at night; much as he would have liked to have insisted on total submission door to door, it simply wasn’t safe on a Hellmouth. Once inside, though, it was a different matter. He slipped out of his leather jacket, abandoning it negligently on the desk, and dropped onto the couch, arms thrown along the back of it, gaze intimidating.

“Kneel.”

Xander dropped at once into the position he had been taught: hands behind his back, left wrist in right hand, thighs wide, eyes cast down. Mouth closed.

“Pretty,” approved Giles. “Now, I think you ought to be punished for disobedience and carelessness. The strap, perhaps, or the cane. Or both. And then something more. A spanking, I think. A nice long spanking over my knee. Because I like doing it and not because you’ve done anything to deserve it. Just because I want to do it, no other reason.” He leaned forward and ran a finger down the side of Xander's face; Xander closed his eyes and leaned a little into the touch. “ _Your_ pleasure is incidental. I might decide to fuck you. I might not. I might let you come. I might not.” The finger settled under Xander's chin and gave a little flick to assure Xander's attention, not that there was any danger of it being lost. “And you... will take what I give you, won’t you?”

Nod.

“I think,” said Giles slowly, giving it apparent consideration, “that silence may be too much to ask of you.” He slid the finger to Xander's lips in time to forestall speech. “Perhaps you need a gag.”

Xander tried to keep his face impassive, but his eyes widened; Giles had never gagged him and he plainly wasn’t certain what he thought about it. Giles went on. “A gag, though, would be easy for you. You wouldn’t need to make an effort with a gag, and I like to see you struggle. So no, not a gag. But I think I must insist that you do not talk. No words until I say you may. I don’t mind if you whimper or cry out, and I believe that I’ve mentioned before that I do enjoy the noises you make when I fuck you – _if_ I fuck you. But no words.” His voice hardened. “I shall be most displeased if you speak.”

Xander leaned a little forward and nudged his head against Giles’ knee. Giles smiled, and caressed the tousled hair. “No words, Xander. The only word you may use without my permission...” He raised an eyebrow and Xander nodded again, seriously, but he had a puzzled and slightly worried expression. Giles cast back over what he had said to find what might have been bewildering. Ah. New things and how they might tie in with the immutable rules. “If I gagged you, I would put my keys in your hand. If you dropped the keys, I would hear it, even if you were bound, and that would count as using your safe-word.” He watched as Xander absorbed that, and nodded thoughtfully. Then he returned to the point. “Any word tonight will count as a safe-word. Any word at all. One word – and I stop. Completely.” He frowned severely. “If you stop me because you are distressed, we will discuss it and see what we can manage. But if you stop me simply because of a lack of control on your part, I will _certainly_ not give you permission to come.” It was remarkable how much Xander could convey just with those big eyes. The nudge against his knee was a little harder this time. “No, I’m not promising. I might permit it. I might not. I certainly won’t unless you earn it and I might not even then.”

 _Huge_ puppy-dog eyes. Ripper grinned at him and leaned in to take a kiss. “Oh, all right. I probably will. Probably. Eventually. Provided you make it worth my while.” He sat back. “Up.”

Xander rose to his feet, fairly gracefully. He was settling into his adult form, Giles thought affectionately; he no longer knocked things over every time he turned round. A year ago he wouldn’t have been able to rise without touching a hand to the floor. “Strip.”

It was prompt but unhurried. This was simply intended to render him naked, and he knew it. He wasn’t required – this time – to perform. It wasn’t a striptease. The shirt came off and was roughly folded and placed on the floor, not simply dropped. Giles didn’t care for untidiness. The shoes and socks were left beside it, Xander having never, after the first time, needed to be told that shoes and socks came before trousers, and why.

“Stop.” A thought had occurred to him. “Stand. Hmmm. Turn. Slowly, now. You know, I think you need a pair of leather trousers. We’ll get them at the weekend. Remind me. Very well, go on.”

He disliked the fashion for baggy trousers which hung on the hip, and Xander knew it; there were occasions on which – or rather, there were locations _for_ which – Giles would prescribe or proscribe certain garments but he viewed Xander's private life as precisely that, private, and Xander's choice of clothing in general was none of Giles’ concern. He was aware, nonetheless, that if he had agreed to go out this evening, Xander would have encased his arse in something which showed it to greater advantage, not because Giles asked, but merely because Giles preferred it.

He didn’t think – much – about how often what he selected from his own wardrobe was designed to please Xander. Tonight he was a serious Top, and serious Tops did what _they_ pleased, when they pleased, how they pleased, and without reference to the pleasure of careless, disobedient, impertinent, delectable young Californians.

The trousers were folded on top of the shirt; the boxers followed. Xander came back to kneel at Giles’ feet again, head submissively lowered.

“Oh yes, _now_ you’re behaving,” scolded Giles affectionately. “Yes, I did notice before; I hadn’t given you permission to look up, had I? So we’re at one carelessness and two episodes of the _same_ disobedience, aren’t we?”

The neck was bent, the dark hair hiding the eyes. Giles leaned forward and cupped a hand around Xander's jaw. “It’s definitely past the time I should have punished you. The same error twice in an evening?” He let go and sat back again. “By the time I’ve finished with you,” he said deliberately, “you’re going to be so sore that you won’t be able to _think_ about sitting down.” He saw, with some satisfaction, that Xander's cock was hard against his body, and already beginning to weep stickily. “You may have... ten minutes. I want you properly prepared, properly attired, and properly positioned, by the time I come upstairs. Go.”

The rise was less graceful this time; Xander grabbed his clothes from the floor and headed for the bathroom.

Giles headed for the kitchen.

He was scrupulous in giving Xander the promised ten minutes; when he went up, he allowed his boots to sound on the stairs. He wasn’t trying to catch Xander out. He stopped to look, for a moment: he enjoyed the sight. Xander's back, gracefully curved as he knelt beside the bed; the loop of chain around Xander's waist; the slender links and broad leather bands of the cuffs at his wrists and elbows. He came round and sat on the bed, and looked down. The finest of silver coloured lines ran across Xander's chest from one nipple ring to the other, hitched through the chain which joined his waist piece to the black collar which he held in his hands. He never presumed to put the collar on himself; Giles wouldn’t have minded if he had, but Xander wanted the ritual by which Giles did it.

“Do you accept my collar, Xander?” It was barely whispered, as Giles lifted the collar from Xander's hands; Xander nodded, remembering that he was forbidden to speak. Giles put a finger under his chin. “Look at me?”

The dark eyes lifted to his and held, as he buckled the thick strap around Xander's throat. Giles let his fingers drop to the tag which hung underneath, the one which simply said ‘Ripper’, and gave it a tug.

“Mine. You’re mine and before I take that off you again, you’ll know it.” He watched the shudder, with some satisfaction, and then growled, “Now, let’s deal with your _many_ failings. I should really just turn you over my knee every evening as soon as you come in, shouldn’t I? Perhaps we’ll try that for a week.” Xander had already pulled the box from under the bed; Giles opened it and made a production of examining the contents. “Disobedience and carelessness. Carelessness and disobedience. And something over. Right. On your feet.” He extracted a couple of metal clips and neatly attached each of Xander's wrist cuffs to the opposing elbow cuff. “That’ll keep your hands in front of you. Bend over, then. Arms on the bed, arse up. Strap first, I think, for the carelessness. Remember, you may make as much noise as you like, but _no words_. I’m not looking for silence, but no swearing, no complaining, no begging. Understood?”

Nod. Xander flexed his back, shuffled his feet and settled himself, braced on his elbows. Giles smiled. “Yes, I like the way you look. You’ll look even better with your arse reddened. Oh, and Xander? I’ve got something a bit... _special_... for you later.” He let his hands drift for a moment over the pliant body, pushing against tense muscles until Xander began to relax a little, patting the upturned rump in affectionate threat.

Then he picked up the broad strap and without any further warning, cracked it smartly down. Xander hissed, and his back flexed again, and Giles waited for him to settle, admiring the broad red stripe with the straight edges. The second stroke came lower, with no overlap and the third and fourth lower still. Xander was breathing hard, but it wasn’t until the fifth stroke, which edged the tops of his thighs, that he let out a squeak of objection.

“I should photograph you,” said Giles conversationally. “I should take a picture every round, so that you can see what you look like. Or video, video would be even better. Each stroke shows red at once, you see, and then it pales to the prettiest pink with white edges. Then every time I go over it, the pink will deepen.” He ran his palm lightly over the tinted flesh. “Hardly even warm yet. I’m going to make it blaze. For carelessness, remember? Chain and tag left in the bathroom? Careless, Xander. Naughty. Ready for some more?”

Xander wasn’t careless enough to speak, but he tilted his hips a little higher, demonstrating concurrence.

“Lovely,” approved Giles and demonstrated his approval with five more strokes, these ones fast enough that Xander had no time to process one before the next arrived. He took full advantage of his permission to yelp.

“Beginning to colour nicely. Those are overlapping a bit, can you feel it?”

Xander nodded.

“You’ll feel it a lot more presently,” said Giles darkly, and proceeded to prove it. Xander was panting hard, face pushed into the bedclothes, hands fisted, when Giles stopped again, and his reactions had been vocal.

“Looking good,” approved Giles, passing his palm over the now scarlet skin and watching Xander jump and flinch. “Down on your knees again.” He allowed his pleasure to show at the hiss and whimper with which Xander settled his abused backside against his heels, and produced a clean handkerchief from his pocket, with which he gently wiped Xander's eyes and, a moment later, his nose. Then he leaned in, with infinite tenderness but with no possibility of refusal, for a kiss, teasing Xander's mouth open, and drawing back only when he felt Xander relax against his knee.

“Does that hurt?”

Nod, with the lashes low against the cheekbone.

“Good.” Purest Ripper. “We’re not half done yet. You think you’re sore now? Up on the bed, please, on your knees, head down.”

Xander's arms were still bound, so that landed him with his arse high in the air; Giles helped him into the precise position he wanted. “Oh yes, that looks good. I could just fuck you now... no, I’m not going to. Not yet. Something new for you first.” He removed a small bag from his pocket. “Keep still, and that includes your head. Don’t look.” He was teasing as he spoke, tickling Xander's inner thigh, stroking a light fingertip across his balls, kneeling behind Xander and blowing on the heated skin. He licked a tender spot where the strap had left a line, just to hear Xander's breath catch and stutter, licked, and then bit gently, distracting Xander from whatever else he was doing. “Relax. It isn’t big.”

It wasn’t, but he knew from experience that it would feel odd, and that the absence of lube would startle Xander. It was wet, though, and slid home without difficulty, Xander's body closing around the narrowed groove he had made. He went back to licking and kissing, and waited patiently. Of course, there was no saying what sort of reaction he would get: no two people responded the same way to any stimulus, let alone to something as variable in its own right as – ah. Xander's head had shot up and he had made a sound of extreme and profound astonishment. Giles laughed, pulling Xander upright, and Xander twisted and glared at him. He got a smart spank for that, which made him jump.

“Don’t be cheeky.”

Xander made a further peculiar noise.

“It’s ginger. Fresh root ginger. It’s been in the fridge all evening, so it’s cold – now. It will warm up.”

Xander's sound was strangled.

“It won’t do you any harm.”

Xander squirmed. And squirmed again.

“Now we’re going to deal with the disobedience. You know how I feel about disobedience, Xander.” He allowed Xander to see him withdraw the cane from the box, and run his hand down the length of it. He knew better than to flex it: it might be traditional in stories and porn films, but there was no more certain way of weakening the rattan to the point of making it snap. He tried it in the air and it hissed wickedly; Xander winced and then jumped again, his eyes widening.

“Ah. You’ve discovered what the ginger does?”

It burned coldly, he knew; Xander's breath was coming fast and short and Giles sat down beside him again, smoothing a hand over the curved back, which was already slick with perspiration.

“Six of the best for disobedience, Xander; you must have been expecting that?”

He got a tiny nod; Xander had encountered the cane more than once and it was something he enjoyed... afterwards. Ahead of time he was still ambivalent about it.

“You were disobedient twice.”

He watched Xander process that and his face change. Giles touched his finger to Xander's mouth, not enough to prevent him speaking if he needed to. “You deserve twelve. You _deserve_ twelve, but I’ll stop at eight.” Xander had never gone further than six. He withdrew the finger and waited; there was a tiny apprehensive nod, and he twisted his hand in Xander's hair and steadied him for another kiss. And another, and another. “But I’m not taking the ginger out first. So they’ll be... intense. No harder than before. Just intense.” He paused. “And of course, I’ve never caned you on top of a strapping and before a spanking, have I?” He smiled wickedly. “I rather think I may enjoy it more than you do. But then, that’s the point of a punishment. All right, no need to hang about. Up from there and back into position.”

Xander didn’t – quite – hesitate. When he was given an order, he wasn’t permitted to hesitate, and two instances of disobedience in an evening were probably enough even for him. Giles was pushing him enough that he would not be well advised to push back. He rolled off the edge of the bed and bent again, meekly, this time with his head on his joined forearms.

“Now,” said Giles conversationally, “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you but I will anyway: _no words_.” He tapped the cane lightly against Xander's arse, and moved slightly to achieve the perfect angle. He tapped again, twice, and the cane hissed and struck. Xander, in turn, also hissed, and wriggled, and then let out a sound reminiscent of a cat with its tail caught in a door.

Giles laughed. There were two more sweeps of the cane through the air, neither touching anything, and Xander jumped and squeaked both times; the next stroke connected and Xander squealed.

“Difficult, isn’t it?” enquired Giles affably; his expression, had Xander been able to see it, was Ripperish in the extreme. “If you clench, the cane doesn’t sting as much but the ginger burns. If you don’t clench, the ginger doesn’t bite but the cane does. Have you decided which you prefer?” He snapped down a third stroke and Xander mewled. “No? Not yet, perhaps.” A fourth stroke, and he paused. It was no part of his plan to push Xander further than he could bear – just right up to teeter on the edge. He traced his fingers along the lines on Xander's skin, and twisted the end of the ginger plug; Xander mewled again, breathlessly. “I must remember to ask you if you like it, when I allow you to speak again. You weren’t going to speak, were you?”

Xander turned his head once only in each direction, but it carried great conviction.  

“I’m so glad. Ready for your next four?”

Xander whimpered, and Giles leaned over him, hands gentle along the sweating back. Xander trusted Giles to do him no real harm; Giles had to trust Xander to use his safe-word if he needed it, if it were too much for him. He couldn’t encourage Xander with words; Xander much preferred Giles to stay in character throughout. It didn’t matter – much – whether Professor Giles was more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger punishing Xander for Xander’s own good, or Ripper was being harsh with Xander because he felt like it and because he could, but either way it was actually Xander – not Giles – who drove the scene, and determined the rules. Giles had to watch carefully, to set the pace so that Xander thought he couldn’t take any more and then discovered that he could. Ripper took what he wanted; he didn’t coax and promise pleasure, he threatened pain. If he asked if Xander were ready for more, it was sarcasm, not concern. But he could use it to give Xander a moment to breathe and gather himself. His hands traced the heaving chest and he rubbed at a peaking nipple. “The advantage of forbidding you to speak is that I don’t have to put up with the backchat; the disadvantage, of course, is that I can’t make you thank me and ask for the next one. Still, never mind. Ready?”

He got a shaky nod, and picked up the cane again. “You’ll have the marks of this until the middle of next week,” he said deliberately; he knew that Xander loved the idea Giles had marked him as his own at least as much as he loved his collar and his chain and tag. He had come across Xander more than once, simply inspecting his own skin for the signs of Giles’ commitment. The comment brought Xander back to his braced position immediately; Giles snapped down two swift strokes and paused again to watch the long body writhe. Xander's legs were trembling and his muscles jumped as he fought against the internal burn and the external sting. Giles tapped lightly with the cane. “Keep still, please. Arse up. Up! Come on, you know the way I like you to look. Present yourself properly or I’ll give you something extra.”

And oh, good Lord, Xander did; Xander did. Xander took his last two strokes with his fists clenched and his thighs quivering, and without anything which could ever be considered speech – although not in silence.

“That’s more like it,” approved Giles, still contriving to make it sound threatening rather than approving, and coaxed Xander first up, and then back to his knees, undoing the links that held his wrists to his elbows, and freeing his arms. “Show me how well behaved you are now.” He was working his fly open as he spoke, and Xander leaned in, nuzzling at the fabric until he could get to skin, licking and kissing and taking Giles deeply into his mouth.

God but he had a talented mouth. Giles tipped his head back with the sheer bliss of it, his eyes closing, his teeth in his lip to stop himself babbling at least as badly as Xander ever did in a steady flow of _yes_ and _more_ and _oh dear heaven you are so bloody_ good _at that_. He managed to collect himself enough to speak, although it was rough even for Ripper’s uncultured voice.

“I love the fact that you’ve never done this to anybody but me. With anybody but me. I just _love_ that I’m the only one who gets to touch you this way. That however much anybody else wants you, they _can’t have you_.” He slipped his fingers inside the collar, with Xander's throat working against his knuckles. “They _do_ want you,” he confided. “I saw at least two men at the Bronze watching you. I don’t know what they would make of you like this, on your knees, chained...” He tugged lightly at the central thread, the one linking Xander's nipples, and Xander hummed around his cock; Giles leaned over him, his joints unstringing with pleasure and snarled ‘mine!’ into the dark hair again, before gathering himself and pulling away, refastening his trousers.

“Delightful though that is, I have other plans.” He traced a fingertip over the full lip in front of him, and Xander mouthed at his hand. “I want you over my knee.” He smoothed back Xander's damp hair, and let his voice harden. “At once, Xander.”

Xander rocked back on his heels with a flinch and gasp, and got his feet underneath him, pushing himself up far enough to get his torso into Giles’ lap. Then it was just a matter of squirming until he was properly positioned across Giles’ thighs.

“Every day next week,” mused Giles. “As soon as you come in, straight over my knee. Yes, I think so. That’s what you’re to do: you’re to find me, get your trousers and pants down, and ask me to spank you.”

Xander squirmed again; he had been half hard even when he was being strapped and caned but now his cock was rigid against Giles’ thigh.

“And you can’t even say that you don’t like it, can you?” Giles’ voice was wickedly amused. “Legs wide,” he ordered, and he twisted the ginger plug again and again, relishing the increasingly frantic reactions as he pulled it half out and shoved it home again. “One of these days, I’ll fig you like this, and then take you out somewhere. Out for coffee, maybe, in broad daylight, somewhere you have to sit still and make conversation. Do you think you could do that? Do you think you could keep people from knowing that I’d put something up your arse that was getting you all fidgety? Do you think you could stop them working out that I was going to bend you over as soon as I got you home, bend you over and replace that ginger with my cock?” He began to pull the ginger free, exquisitely slowly, and dropped it back into its bag, before reaching over Xander to the bedside table for the tube of slick. “Let’s get you lubed. When I’ve spanked you, I’m going to fuck you, because you’re _mine_.”

The whimper wasn’t pain, this time, it was sheer unbridled desire, and Xander's thighs flexed wide as Giles squeezed a liberal quantity of lube between his scarlet cheeks and began to work it in. He was more careful than it might have felt to Xander, distracting him with fingernails on the heated flesh, and then retrieving his handkerchief and wiping his fingers.

“Now,” he said darkly, and brought his hand down hard. It took him only a minute or two to have Xander crying out and wriggling; he wrapped an arm tightly around Xander's ribs. “Keep still,” he admonished, and returned to the sharp application of palm to arse. The noisy slaps went on and on, with Xander's yelps intensifying. Giles continued, apparently unmoved, until one particularly stinging smack to the inside of Xander's thigh elicited a sound approaching desperation. Not a word, but a sign that Giles could recognise, nonetheless.

“All right,” he said abruptly, giving Xander a push. “On the bed, on your back.” He stood up, hastily stripping off his clothes and watching as Xander scrambled to obey. “Shall I let you come?” He was reaching for a condom, exerting all his self-control to stop his hands shaking. Xander didn’t even nod, but his eyes begged. Giles let an eyebrow flicker. “I think... Hands above your head.” He retrieved a length of chain from the box on the floor, and worked it through the headboard, fastening the ends to Xander's cuffs so that he could move, but his hands were restrained at shoulder level. “That will stop you touching yourself. You’ll come on my cock or not at all, because you’re _mine_.”

It wasn’t that much of a threat. Xander spread his legs submissively, but Giles wasn’t fooled. He caught Xander's knees and pulled him into position.

“Now,” he said breathlessly, and pushed home in one slow forceful stroke, feeling Xander resist for a moment, and then ease against him, and watching the dark eyes close and the chin lift. He stopped, hearing the blood thrum in his head, and Xander whined and squirmed.

“You’ll come on my cock because you’re _mine_ ,” he repeated, and shifted a little before beginning a steady thrust, the joy of which turned his brains to porridge. Please God, Xander didn’t need any more clever talk because Giles couldn’t do it, not with those delicious sounds that Xander was making, little gasps and throaty whimpers, not with Xander's head turning blindly from side to side, not with Xander's body working around him. He shifted again, and again, searching for the spot which would drag that familiar long, low sound from Xander, and when he found it, he gripped Xander's hips and drove his own forward steadily, losing his rhythm once or twice when Xander's body lifted in response. He freed one hand and got his fingers to Xander's nipple, plucking, twisting gently, tugging on the chain, and Xander's breath came short and fast.

“ _Mine,”_ he growled again, and Xander's back curled, his legs locked around Giles, and they both cried out, Xander sharply as his climax rolled over him and Giles deeper and longer as he allowed himself to give way. One of these days, he thought muzzily, waiting for the world to cease to spin and rock, one of these days Xander would be left having to explain to a paramedic just precisely what he had done to the naked dead Englishman with the smile on his face.

Naked Dead Englishmen sounded like the name of one of the bands of his youth... he would have to run that one past Oz.

Or not, his more sensible, less fuck-stupid self admonished. Or not.

He managed to roll clear of Xander before they stuck together inextricably, and another five minutes made it possible for him to get up, and to free Xander's hands, not that Xander was showing any signs of wanting to move. Giles would have preferred not to move himself, but at least he had made his preparations early in the evening: baby wipes, for himself first, and then, more gently and more comprehensively, for Xander, to clean them both up. Xander stretched and murmured sleepily, shivering a little under the chill of the wipe. Aloe gel, smoothed lightly over the still-heated skin of his arse, made him jump, and Giles ran a hand down his thigh to settle him, as he might have done to a fretful animal. A glass of water was retrieved from the bedside table, and offered silently, to be accepted and drained in one go.

“Go and brush your teeth, love, and I’ll tidy up here.”

Xander grumbled under his breath, not words, but tone, and Giles pulled him to his feet and patted him on the rump admonishingly. “Go on.” He had made the bed look inviting by the time Xander returned to sit cautiously on the edge of it, wincing a little but smiling in reassurance when Giles frowned.

If the rite of putting on the collar was performed to Xander's specification, Giles was fully observant of his own ceremonies in the removal of the chains. It was done carefully, without haste, and as each clasp was undone, Giles touched his mouth to Xander's skin beneath. Right hip. Left hip. Navel. Spine. Right nipple. Left nipple. Right wrist. Left wrist. Right elbow. Left elbow. Xander raised his chin and Giles carefully unbuckled the collar, and placed a kiss on the hollow of Xander's throat, and then moved his hair aside to touch his lips to the back of Xander's neck before returning to his mouth. Everything was dropped into the box, and pushed out of sight; Giles stood up again wearily.

“Get into bed. I won’t be long.”

For all his exhaustion, he stood for a moment and watched as Xander slid under the covers, marvelling, not for the first time, at this gift of his middle age. Then he turned away to the bathroom, making himself ready for sleep. Oh good lord, how had it got to be so late? He half expected Xander to be asleep when he returned, but he was not; he was propped on one elbow, watching for Giles, looking sated and... there was _no_ possibility of Giles being capable of anything more before he slept, but with Xander looking so eminently fuckable...

“I meant what I said earlier,” he announced abruptly. “You’re to come and be spanked every day this week. I expect you deserve it, and even if you don’t, I want to do it anyway.”

Xander's sleepy grin and nod were conspiratorial; Giles smiled back, and moved to retrieve something from the pocket of his abandoned jeans. He slipped into bed beside Xander, and reached again to lift away the tangled hair. The chain fell into its accustomed place around Xander's neck; Xander squirmed close, an arm across Giles’ chest. Giles switched off the light and lay down, and as they shifted into their accustomed places, the little silver oval swung against Xander's throat.

_Property of Professor R Giles, M.A. (Oxon), D.Phil., F.B.A._


End file.
